


King of Nothing

by Phosphorite



Category: Free!
Genre: Australia, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hopes that by the time they meet again, something will have changed.</p><p>(Then maybe, just maybe, he'll finally forget the strange feeling that crept up on him the last time they were alone in Australia, in the bed they once shared together.)</p><p>[rating to go up later]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my stories seem to end and begin while I travel. I started this one alone in a hotel room back in April, and ended up writing over half of it stuck waiting for a delayed (then cancelled) flight. For no other reason besides that I could, I guess.
> 
> That's what this story is. Something completely self-indulgent and nonsensical, and just for me.
> 
> If someone else enjoys it too, all the better.

 

too bad you’re so beautiful  
and so complicated  
i may be a deluded fool  
but still fascinated  
too bad you’re so beautiful  
when i’m king of nothing  
this can only go one way 

\- _too bad you're so beautiful_ , duran duran

 

 

 

 

He hopes that by the time they meet again, something will have changed.

No, something _must_ have changed. The leap across to Tokyo might not be as big as it is to Australia, but for someone like Haruka it must be worth an ocean. Even with Makoto around as his personal Rosetta stone, the months after graduation blur together for everyone, until even Haruka must be someone he was not before leaving Iwatobi.

It’s hard to put into words.

It’s not that Rin wants Haruka to change.

And yet, he cannot help but feel like part of him is betting everything on the chance that _something_ has, on the day his phone vibrates with Haruka’s curt message stating _I’m coming over for four days for a practice camp._

After all, if something about Haruka changes, then something about Rin might change.

If something about Haruka changes, if something about Rin changes, then maybe, something between the two of them will change.

And if something about the two of them changes––

then maybe, just maybe, he'll finally forget about the last time the two of them were alone in Australia, and not think about the strange feeling that crept up on him in the bed they once shared together.

_I think we’re staying at the same hotel_ , Haruka’s follow-up message says.

(He does anyway.)

 

 

 

It’s almost as if he senses Haruka’s presence a moment before the shadow moves into the hall.

Then again, maybe it’s his imagination for all the times this scene has repeated itself in the past: first as confused children, then as teenagers with downcast eyes. The reunions, and the strange silence that always followed, as if something about the universe was trying to re-align.

That hasn’t changed. Maybe it’ll never really change, because when Rin charms up a smile the casualness is only two thirds real, which means it is also one thirds fake.

The corridor is crowded with people, but the path before him clears with Haruka hesitantly letting his bag slouch to the ground. Even with a morning flight, it’s already late; there’s a weariness to Haruka’s posture that dulls his normal disdain over the noise, and Rin hears himself speak on automated cue.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

It’s a floor above Rin’s own. Which means that technically, Rin doesn’t have a good excuse to laze around after Haruka stares at the keycard with a tiny frown, after Haruka manages to battle the lock open, after Haruka turns around and still finds Rin standing by the door.

And it’s weird, because there’s that silence again – filling the hallway in a way Rin knows it would not, were Haruka someone like Makoto. Someone like Sousuke, even Nagisa or Rei: a friend whose room he would not hesitate to enter, to slouch on the bed and stretch out his arms, because he would not need an excuse.

But Haruka is not that kind of friend.

Instead, Haruka is a friend in the most elusive sense of the word, whose attention always felt like a privilege rather than a right; and even though neither of them is quite the moody high schooler desperate for validation anymore, a part of that instinct is still quick to kick in.

The seconds at the door feel like a countdown, but he doesn't know to what. Because if there’s anything Rin has learnt about Nanase Haruka in the past seven years, it is to not take anything about him for granted.

“You want to stay for a while?” Haruka finally asks, and Rin feels like there’s a reason that very truth still resounds right to the bone.

 

 

 

They sit on the opposite ends of the bed, and there are words and sound but all he remembers is the sight.

Because Rin has had _words_ , he’s had the sound too, over a hundred of joint Skype chats where Nagisa’s laughter rolled over Haruka’s curt silence. Sometimes there was image, when Makoto succeeded in persuading Haruka to join a video call, but even then it’s–– different.

Every twitch of Haruka’s brow. The slight flex of his shoulders. A tilt of Haruka's chin where his eyes flick up, beneath hair that seems longer than the last time they met; all of these are things Rin cannot help but stare at, transfixed by how strange and yet so familiar all of it comes across.

They don’t talk about anything important. Nothing about it is important. But what _is_ important, is Haruka’s attentiveness, all the small details Rin somehow just _knows_ his former self was never quite able to read. It is all the kind of proof Rin wishes the desperate, cornered teenager of his past could have stopped to listen – until once upon a Winter in Australia, he finally did.

Winter, Summer, August, Spring.

It’s Spring in Japan right now, but the Autumn of the Southern hemisphere makes the nights drag late. Or that’s the excuse Rin finally uses to explain why at half past eleven, he’s still in Haruka’s room reliving that catharsis; he’s not sure who he’s really even explaining to, because all Haruka does is nod.

“You know, we have shared practice in the morning,” is what Rin follows this lousy excuse up with, and regrets it just as quickly. After all, the words are loaded with a thousand roads, none of which he knows he should expect Haruka to want to take.

What does he hope Haruka will say?

What does he _want_ , anyway?

“You could always just sleep here.”

At the calm, yet also unreadable expression on Haruka’s face, Rin understands he only knows the answer to one.

 

 

 

It’s not such a big deal.

This is why he laughs, shrugs, and throws himself into aloofness like Haruka _is_ in fact someone like Makoto – like Rin isn’t dying to bite his own tongue once Haruka pulls off his hoodie, and the air-conditioner stares back at Rin like a holy icon fixed on the wall.

It's fine. It's fine. All of this is perfectly normal, and something people with their kind of history are at liberty to do. But almost two years ago the two of them slept back to back amidst the lights of the city, and tonight Haruka specifically faces Rin's side.

Perhaps, all it really is _is_ exhaustion; Haruka's eyes close as soon as his head hits the pillow, next to Rin's in a single, uncalculated fall. The hand that curls between them is braced for balance, but the inch it leaves between their arms both burns and relieves Rin at the same time.

He doesn’t know which is worse, after all: the fact that the distance is there, or what might happen if it's not.

So he does the only thing he can think of, to dispel that thought before it gains hold: pretends he doesn't sense the charge of Haruka's skin, and reaches out to give his shoulder a light shove. “Oi, did you fall asleep already?”

A more awake Haruka might catch onto the edge in his voice, but this Haruka responds only with a morose _no_. It’s kind of endearing in its juvenility, familiar enough for Rin's hand to linger; by the time he thinks to remove it, though, enough time has passed for the window of casual gestures to have closed.

Maybe it’s senseless to over-think it. No, it definitely is, yet a hasty reflex still jolts Rin's hand until it slides down the curve of Haruka's back. Maybe it's simply a knee-jerk reaction too, but the sudden touch makes Haruka nestle an inch closer; his eyes never open, but this time the sound that leaves him sends a low swirl in Rin’s stomach for everything it could but cannot possibly imply.

This isn't how this was supposed to go.

But it is exactly how it's going, and so; even at the risk of having to rouse uncomfortable questions (what does he _hope_ it might imply?), something about the low light of the room leaves enough room for Rin’s curiosity to fan out his fingers, to gently brush at Haruka’s back.

Even through his t-shirt, Haruka’s spine clearly arches towards the touch like a lazy cat, and in that single movement his forehead softly bumps against Rin’s own. It’s comical enough to make Rin snort, unintentional enough to drain any excess nervousness from his body.

It’s really not such a big deal.

It doesn’t need to be a – _Deal_ in the first place, to fall asleep with his arm around Haruka’s waist, fingers trailing the small of his back as if a funny kind of charge isn't making Rin's fingertips tickle. Because the night is like a mask, allowing the shadows to conceal any emotion showing on his face; somehow, it makes it easier to swallow those feelings, to pretend none of it really means anything at all.

He forgets something crucial, though.

Cats, unlike humans, can see in the dark.

 

 

 

The following morning he wakes up in an empty bed, but it's something Rin knows to expect.

When it comes to beating the other young athletes to the pool, his internal alarm is second to only one. Somehow, the certainty of that thought is oddly comforting – like a wordless reaffirmation of last night, soothing the part of Rin that insists nothing here is out of place.

He both does and does not believe this, once the breaking waves bounce off the walls of the practice hall, and the morning light finally swallows the shadows off his face.

Because something _has_ changed, Rin understands, but the realization comes like a reverse effect; in the year they’ve spent swimming apart from one another, Haruka’s claim on water has become unyielding through confidence rather than necessity. What was once fuelled by escapism now resounds with determination, his form developed with the grace of conscious effort and a spirit no-one else in the entire world could possess.

All at once Rin feels like he’s back in middle school and struggling to breathe, drawing in air as sharply as the gasp that leaves Haruka when he breaks the surface.

Ridiculous.

Stubborn.

Beautiful.

“Predictable,” is what he chokes out with a strained laugh, landing on the one adjective that does not risk giving him away in three syllables or less. It triggers Haruka’s attention, makes him stand up in the water, yet the brow he lifts at Rin almost seems to underline the irony of that word.

This, in a sense, should be warning sign number one.

It could easily be warning sign number twenty thousand and two, but it’s not really until here that Rin begins to keep count. Because suddenly the signs are all over the place: in broad daylight, it feels impossible _not_ to watch them spill from Haruka’s every gesture, as much as Rin’s mind works overdrive to explain each one away.

The lack of disregard. The absence of impatience. The weight of Haruka’s stare from across the hall, even after practice demands their full concentration. Perhaps it is this directness that leaves Rin bewildered, because it is not the change he expected; all it does is make it that much harder when Haruka catches up later that afternoon, wet hair stuck on his temples and speaking slightly out of breath:

“Do you want to come over tonight?”

Warning sign number ten.

Only problem is, Rin’s not sure what the signs are really trying to warn him of.

 

 

 

They sit on the opposite ends of the bed again, and as Haruka leans over to show Makoto’s message wishing them both a successful training camp, a thought hits Rin like a hundred bricks out of the blue:

If he stays over tonight, something will definitely happen.

What this _something_ is, well, that Rin cannot say. All he knows is that he can sense that shift, like he always senses Haruka before he enters a room; not so much a premonition, rather than a fact that feels unavoidable. As if something about this has been a long time coming, and it can only end one way.

In a sense, it helps calm Rin down. What it means is that he can still control it, should he only choose to go against the instinct leading him down that path. Stand up, bid goodnight, leave this room and never–– never once stop to think what could have been, had he listened to a completely different voice in his head.

“I should probably go,” Rin says, and again all Haruka does is nod.

It doesn’t occur to Rin until long later that the reason Haruka nods is not because he agrees, but because he knows as well as Rin does that Rin doesn’t actually want to go.

This is probably why an hour later Rin still sits on that bed, still staring at the air-conditioner like it could grant him the answers he already knows in his heart. There have been times he has let moments like this play out simply for the sake of morbid curiosity, but tonight the air is expectant rather than grim; when Haruka finally pulls off his hoodie anew and the shadows fall back upon that bed, the silence between them hangs thin.

Rin leans on his back, just like he did the last time. It feels like the safest option, as much as it also feels like stalling, because Haruka’s arm touches his as calmly as his thigh bumps into Rin's. And maybe Rin simply imagines it (imagines all of this, so god help him) but the gaze that cuts through the darkness is alert when Haruka reaches over to his side.

Rin takes a long breath.

Then another, until he cannot help but face Haruka head-on; somewhere in those minutes always lies a moment of ease, or perhaps frustration, which dissolves the doubt in Rin's head long enough to breathe out:

"...Hey."

It's not an _oi_ , or a _huh_ , or any form of purposefully obtuse ignorance. It's a _hey_ that has no need for pretenses anymore, because that moment has long gone and passed – and while it might be impossible to ever completely rid himself of self-consciousness, knowing this somehow makes it so much easier for Rin to reach out, and touch the side of Haruka’s face.

It’s a soft trail from the curve of Haruka's ear down to his jaw, and when his thumb stops right below the lower lip, there’s a rush of blood in Rin’s ears. As inevitable as all of this must have been, it does not mean it’s any less overwhelming to anticipate each second, to not hold his breath when Haruka leans in close enough to breathe against his skin.

They stay that way for a while in the darkness, the heat of Haruka’s lips a hair’s width from Rin’s own.

"...Hey," Haruka finally whispers in response, and with a sharp breath, leans all the way in.

When their lips touch, at first it’s little more than a brush. The softness of that graze delays the actual kiss as if it's too soon to connect it with reality, because it feels like all the countless teenage secrets Rin had always buried under a thousand _could never happen_ ’s. Would never happens, if just because it was _Haruka_ – not some guy whose unexpected attention made Rin flustered for a moment, but the one dream he could not outrun even across the ocean.

But perhaps, his greatest mistake was assuming he was ever the only one who felt that way; in the silence, Haruka’s breath comes out distorted, right before he presses more firmly against Rin’s lips and the kiss connects like an impatient sigh.

It’s still tentative, the tug on his lower lip, but it grows more determined once the blur in Rin's head fades enough to properly respond. Something in his ears still hums like a wayward feed, but the softness is also tangible enough to bind him to this moment, to the quick bite of Haruka’s teeth where his tongue instinctively flicks over his lips. It sinks something in Rin’s stomach again, because with that tiny gesture the warmth spreads between them like a conscious choice, allowing those small nudges to claim his mouth.

Up until that point it might have been possible for Rin to insist all of this is an accident. A completely drawn-out, mockery of an accident, yet one the two of them could still laugh off and pretend none of it was ever meant to happen. But this is nothing short of a _full-blown kiss_ , one that demolishes the last of Rin’s doubt that Haruka does mean it; haphazard as it may be, Haruka pushes up rather than pulls away when Rin slides an arm down his spine, and gently licks along Haruka’s lip.

It still feels like a crazy daydream but all of this is crazy, for how many times Rin's shrugged off such a pathetic fantasy, only to find the real Haruka twice as eager to clutch at the front of his shirt when Rin’s tongue parts his lips. In spite of his obvious inexperience, something intuitive drives Haruka onwards to meet Rin halfway, a quick gasp leaving Haruka again a second before their tongues entwine.

A strange kind of heat floods Rin’s shoulders and washes right down to his arms. With each little lick that heat continues to spread, prompting both of them bolder, hastier, until Rin’s lungs are screaming for air. Hands still feverishly gripping at the small of Haruka’s back, the urge to breathe still breaks their lips apart long enough for Rin to inhale like part of him is drowning; as he opens his eyes, the glow of Haruka’s stare is visible even in the dark.

The countless, redundant _why’_ s hang on the tip of Rin's tongue, but Haruka’s fingers drift from his shirt and down to his sides, until they slide underneath to graze the skin of Rin’s stomach. His touch burns like the kiss he lands on Rin’s neck before it trails along Rin’s jaw, and when Rin yanks his mouth back up, perhaps it's easier not to know.

Everything here is a dream that might end at the first ray of morning light, and he cannot–– will not–– waste a thought on why the possibility of that hurts. Why it’s possible to want and fear something so much at the same time, because their entire shared life is an anomaly: the distant, dispassionate Haruka who kisses him with all the intensity of a radiant sun, and the impulsive, trigger-happy Rin whose soft caress once more makes Haruka arch his entire back.

It’s so easy to lose himself in that momentum. To forget himself as Rin’s leg hooks around Haruka’s, and the two of them lock against one another without an inch to spare. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to ignore how the flutters in his stomach grow heavier, once Haruka’s hips buckle towards him and the innocence of lightheadedness begins to pave way for actual arousal.

Inevitable as it might be, the bewilderment of connecting this familiar feeling with a living, breathing Haruka makes Rin’s shoulders shudder with a jolt. For the first time tonight, Haruka’s head yanks back with something almost alarmed; the darkness conceals what Rin envisions to be hesitation on Haruka’s face, but the voice that cuts the silence is undeniable with concern.

“Rin,” is all Haruka says, and it sounds like a wave of sobered nerves; it sounds like Rin’s heart finally connecting with his mind, because the longer he lets this go on, the harder it will be to walk away when it eventually comes to an end.

How long can you stretch a dream before the spell breaks, anyway?

“I,” Rin begins, in a voice that barely sounds like his own, “I should probably go.”

It could easily be feeble repetition, but this time Haruka does not nod. Instead, he says absolutely nothing, while Rin’s head swarms with a thousand question he does not necessarily want to ask. And yet, even after he awkwardly disentangles from Haruka’s body and his feet hit the floor, Rin cannot help but breathe life to the only words he can:

“…Haru, what… what _are_ we?”

What answers him is silence, until an exhausted breath distorts Haruka’s voice in the dark:

“…What we always were, Rin.”

The words follow Rin out the door, down the corridor, down a flight of steps and into his own, empty bed.

But he doesn’t know what they mean.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, and then it got out of hand.
> 
> Fear not, though.
> 
> In spite of being chaptered, this story doesn't actually have a plot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives.
> 
> It's also going to be a chapter longer than I thought, because this sorry excuse for a story refuses to end.

 

 

 

On the third day, they do not see each other.

The grapevine says international schools have a different program: land practice, consultation, juggling with wombats, whatever. None of this concerns Rin, since only thing he’s concerned about is the silent display of his phone.

Twice it vibrates that day. The first is a pointless greeting from a teammate, the second a message whose sender nearly makes Rin choke on his recovery drink.

For four and a half heartbeats he expects the lines under _Makoto_ to sink his spirit with something like, _What were you thinking?!_ or even, _I thought you knew better than that_ , but all that’s emblazoned on the screen is a cheerful little whale sticker and the words, _Do your best today! Oh, and please tell Haru not to ignore his diet._

As the speech bubble shows up on their shared chat, Rin wonders in passing if Haruka has said anything to Makoto. It would feel awkward to ask, though, so all he responds with is a _yeah_ to hide how he only wants to scream.

Haruka never shows up. Not in person, not through text on a screen.

That night Rin goes to his own room and stares at his neatly made bed, but he doesn't know why it seems so repulsive; it’s hardly the first or the last of cheap hotel beds he's seen, but the overworked heart that made him fall asleep in it last night is long gone.

The bed is empty, his phone is empty, Rin’s head is empty.

And as is often true with life, with emptiness comes regret.

It’s not that he regrets the choice to leave. What he regrets, is the fear that stops him from walking up that flight of stairs to explain _why_ : how the desperate 16-year-old in him still runs for cover at the first chance of failure, convinced that all of this only exists in his head.

The longer he stalls the harder it becomes to tell Haruka all this, though, until the final day dawns lonely all the same.

But there's more than one instinct that awakens Rin in those early hours, as the wavering light makes the emptiness slowly dissipate; because that16-year-old might always exist somewhere inside of him, but so does the 17-year-old who once didn't hesitate to drag Haruka across an ocean to share his heart.

In the end, it _is_ all in his head.

The fear, and the second guesses – they're lost in the sound of his footsteps, just as his footsteps merge with the breaking of the waves. The echoes mix in the empty practice hall, but a split second before Rin's toes touch the water, Haruka's body comes to an abrupt halt.

“Rin,” Haruka breathes as he breaks through the surface, and it sounds like everything Rin hopes he doesn’t need to explain.

 

 

 

That night, there is no silence.

Somewhere out there the rest of their teammates are probably wasting their final evening on something more spectacular, but everything Rin wants is here: sight and sound come together like something woven from his memories, as the crummy TV flickers in tune to some terrible Australian quiz show.

Rin doesn't know how it happens.

One moment he's over-thinking their entire shared history together, and the next he finds himself right back in Haruka’s room.

No, that's–– it happens wordlessly, from early morning light to the final minutes of the closing ceremony, a promise that follows every shared glance until Haruka sneaks off from the crowd. Five minutes later his head rests on Rin's shoulder, and the laugh-track in the background hides the way Rin's arm snake around Haruka’s waist.

A light frown holds Haruka’s brows together while he patiently listens to each incomprehensible punch-line on TV. Only the goosebumps on his skin belie Haruka's calmness, as Rin's fingers draw absent-minded patterns on his arm; it's a waiting game, waged by the warmth of Haruka's body and the scent of his hair, until the show quits for commercials and Haruka finally turns.

Deep down, of course Rin expects it.

Hell, he wouldn't even be here if he hadn't waited specifically for this, but his heart still skips at the soft brush of lips below his ear.

The lightness of those lips trail along Rin's jaw, lean in a little firmer, until the touch deepens with a lick of Haruka's tongue. Little by little it moves up Rin’s chin, and a low sound leaves Rin's throat in an involuntary whimper.

Then, a sudden pause.

“...Yesterday. The swimming, and the practice."

Another pause, and Haruka’s averted gaze.

"It… it didn’t help.”

The words come out like an apology, with a message hidden in the conflict that clouds his face; it takes a moment for Rin to understand what Haruka’s really trying to say, until yesterday’s radio silence finally clicks together in his head.

His hand calmly settles on the small of Haruka's back, bracing it until Haruka's shoulders relax.

“…A year away from you didn’t help either," Rin murmurs, but instead of an apology, it's a confession: because he knows now, just as well as Haruka does, that the real reason any of this is happening is since _none of it_ _ever_ _helps_.

No time or distance, no amount of emotional tapering ever seems to lessen the spark of this whole post-teenage frenzy that’s far too long overdue; and they should probably talk about what that means as well, but the night time of Autumn feels a lot like Spring, when Haruka’s question grazes the side of Rin’s mouth.

"...So this is okay?"

Maybe it’s the flicker of the TV screen that paints Haruka’s eyes an electric hue. Maybe it’s just an accident that Haruka's legs shift around Rin’s waist, like Rin's hands slip under Haruka's t-shirt.  Or maybe they’re both finally done with faking spontaneity, when the only thing Rin’s wanted for the past forty eight hours is to bury his lips on Haruka’s neck.

"This is okay," he whispers in response, and the last syllable lands right on Haruka’s skin.

The sound that escapes Haruka is a lot like Rin’s former whimper, but in two, three seconds he recovers to grip at Rin’s hair. Four, five light kisses it takes to reach Haruka’s chin, until the final one lingers beneath his lower lip.

Six, seven heartbeats and the familiar noise fills Rin’s ears, as Haruka leans down for an exhausted kiss.

Fumbling to silence the TV like Haruka fumbles to part his lips, he can almost taste Haruka’s impatience. For almost two full days he’s waited for Rin’s approval, a sign of patience Haruka rarely displays. Little surprise, then, that the weight of his frustration now hangs heavy like the tongue that slides past Rin’s teeth.

It’s a messy, deliberate lick that drags down Rin’s own tongue, pulling Rin right back to where they left off. As his thumbs press into Haruka’s hips, once more Haruka arches in his lap; it pushes Haruka deeper against Rin’s mouth, makes him press against Rin’s chest, and with that it all somehow just escalates.

Somehow, somehow. Or maybe it’s still deliberate, how Rin breaks off the kiss to yank up Haruka’s shirt; completely conscious, to brave the wrath of Haruka’s objection and lick a wet trail down his neck. Reaching Haruka’s shoulder almost makes Rin personally object, though, because he’s not the only one who’s trained rigorously all year – it’s bad enough how weak he is at Haruka’s ticklish laughter, but the arms that come down to pull up Rin's own top would probably make his sister faint.

"...What," Haruka mutters into Rin's hair, when the brief thought of Gou –at what might be the worst possible time– makes him snort out loud.

"Nothing," Rin chokes back his laughter, letting his breath linger on Haruka's skin before grazing it with his teeth. Dragging his fingers across Haruka's stomach, it draws a shudder that Haruka quickly follows up with a distracted, sullen _hmph_.

So predictable.

Or stubborn, or ridiculous; but the only word that comes out is _beautiful_ , whispered against Haruka’s collarbone a moment before Rin shifts their weight, and pushes Haruka flat on his back. The bed yields under their combined weight, but not a second delays Haruka’s reflexes when he hooks his knees around Rin’s. It’s a sync that prompts an unexpected shiver at Haruka’s nails on Rin’s spine, grabbing Rin’s hips when he kisses down on Haruka harder.

There’s an eighty percent chance neither one of them knows where any of this is headed. What Haruka must know, though, is that this time Rin won’t walk out on him halfway; that when his fingertips dance down to Rin’s lower stomach, the flinch of Rin’s muscles isn’t one of fear. Since the impatient way Haruka first sucked on his tongue, Rin’s tried not to think about his arousal, yet it’s him who also responds by leaning towards Haruka’s hand.

Braced on his elbows, Rin cannot help biting lightly on Haruka’s neck when that touch slips further, running over the fabric of his sweats. As much as Rin has progressively kept growing harder, any dignity to control this flies right out of the window as soon as tentative fingers slide along his cock; Rin’s helpless _ah_ echoes another one from Haruka, like both of them have been holding in their breath.

“…Rin, I,” Haruka begins, and his voice sounds different from anything Rin’s ever heard before, “…I want to… touch you.”

Not a _can I_ , not a _could I_ , but the purest, most selfish thought that passes from Haruka’s lips. It feels like the jolt of an electric wire, a blow of an anvil that drains the blood from Rin’s head.

The abrupt tension in Rin’s body nearly makes Haruka retreat, but Rin’s reflexes grab his wrist before Haruka misunderstands. All this caution at Rin’s limits is very admirable, yet misplaced when every inch of him is screaming _yes_ – a word Rin manages to choke out with a frenzied heart, hiding behind a kiss in Haruka’s hair.

But when their eyes meet again, the look Haruka shoots Rin leaves no room to hide: part amused, part expectant, and every part eager as his hand pulls up and a row of knuckles grazes Rin’s lower abs. When those knuckles come to rest on his waistband again, Haruka’s lips catch Rin by the jaw, and his fingers extend to slip all the way in.

It’s hysterical, how easily Haruka makes Rin feel like he’s sixteen again.

Because it can’t be _normal_ that his breath wheezes in his lungs, simply at the first few strokes through his underwear; like suddenly Haruka’s impatience is all but gone, clearly fascinated by the sounds Rin tries to bite back. The curiosity of Haruka’s hand is like a trial run, and Rin can tell; thumb drawing circles from the head to the base of Rin’s cock, his fingers skip along just light enough to make Rin utter a frustrated gasp.

“…Haru,” is all he says, unsure whether it’s meant as a warning or a plea; but it makes Haruka swallow down something heavy all the same, right before his hand pushes past any remaining clothing and closes around Rin’s cock.

The pressure of his grip makes Rin bite Haruka’s shoulder, if just to muffle his surprised moan. It makes the nails of Haruka’s left hand dig into Rin’s thigh, something almost feral in that gaze once the slow flick of his wrist makes Rin hide his face in Haruka’s neck. It’s all he can do to stop himself from trembling, after all, elbows digging into the mattress and legs spread apart by Haruka’s knees – on top yet completely subdued, overwhelmed by how much it turns him on.

It’s all a blur when Haruka finds a languid pace, his angle ending each tug with a palm over the head of Rin’s cock. It’s not long until the wetness of his pre-come mixes together with Haruka’s warmth, forcing Rin to distract himself by leaving marks in the soft parts of Haruka’s skin; because the heat keeps pooling in the pit of his stomach like the shivers follow every jerk of Haruka’s hand, and as much as he wants them to hasten, Rin also never wants it to end.

But stalling has never been anything but a mistake, Rin understands when his teeth run along the curve of Haruka’s ear. No, correction: stealing a glance at Haruka is a horrible mistake, after he speaks out Rin’s name with a lip nearly bruised from holding back a more incriminating cry.

It’s–– a sight Rin may or may not have dreamed up in the past, of that face flushed with want, hair fanned out as it is now; and it awakens an age-old memory, of a wish as pure yet twice as selfish as Haruka’s own.

A wish Rin still cannot admit aloud, even when it crashes through in his head:

_I want to fuck you so badly I think I might go insane_

A mistake, a mistake, a mistake.

Because as soon as he thinks it, Rin cannot un-imagine it, and it all becomes too much: Haruka’s eyes awash with need, the pleasure that flows in his touch, the realization that one day all of this might feel so much _more –_ it’s more intense than any fantasy Rin’s ever had in his life, catching him blindsided in a violent climax like a shudder from his toes to a ragged, desperate breath.

It takes Haruka aback just as much, late to react before Rin comes in his palm, hot come spilling across his chest. Rin’s right elbow crashes against the wall next to Haruka while his listless body nearly flattens them both; it’s an ungraceful orgasm right out of Rin’s most morbid nightmares, but never once does Haruka look grossed or freaked out. Instead, he looks–– puzzled, almost, like he had simply forgotten what might happen if they got this far.

Then he shrugs.

Any self-conscious apologies die on Rin’s lips, and instead he begins to laugh.

Haruka’s eyes flick up with a bewildered frown, but all it does is make Rin laugh even harder.  Nothing here makes any sense, after all: from quiz shows to handjobs to nearly bruised elbows, it’s a toppled mess of exhausted hearts, sheepish and shameless all at once.

“Sorry, I just––“ he struggles through his fatigue, but he cannot help it; somehow, all the tension and stress of the past few days pour out of him in that absurd moment, braced in Haruka’s arms until his shoulders stop twitching.

When they do, Haruka’s fingers unthread from his hair.

“…We should clean up,” he breathes out and pushes his legs off the bed; shrugging off his sweats, Haruka manages a total of two steps towards the bathroom before Rin realizes Haruka’s legitimately, positively, honest-to-god wearing a swimsuit underneath.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Haruka halts at Rin’s groan. His only response is to turn around, gesture blatantly at his own chest, and lift a brow as if to say, _I’m the embarrassing one?_

“…Point taken,” Rin mutters, but the comeback also leaves him relieved: it’s a silent _are you okay_ joined by _I’m still fine_ , a way to process everything that’s changed. When Haruka reaches the bathroom he glances over his shoulder again, and in the glow of the bedside lamp Rin still finds traces of Haruka’s flush.

 _WELL?_ that stare says in bold, expectant letters.

It makes Rin’s heart beat faster all the same.

 

 

 

The sound of running water helps drain Haruka’s impatience, of course.

Only two things in the world ever seem to, but it’s a connection Rin has yet to make in so many words. His own mind is too preoccupied by the confined shower and Haruka’s sudden nakedness – a fact rarely worth mentioning after years of shared locker rooms, but it’s a lot harder to act neutral when the water that runs across Haruka’s chest washes away with Rin’s come.

Rin’s head feels light for the hundredth time tonight.

A stream of cool water cascades down Haruka’s arm when he turns back to Rin, and the sudden unease on his face makes Rin’s head even lighter.

“…I’m… That probably wasn’t what you hoped for, Rin.”

It is quite possibly the last thing Rin expects to hear.

“Wh–– the hell?” he snaps on bewildered impulse, and something defiant twitches on the side of Haruka’s mouth. The stream on his arm moves in a veil of water when it reaches up to touch Rin’s hand.

“No, I mean…” he frowns again, “What just happened, it wasn’t…”

This time, the apology in Haruka’s voice is so sincere it twists a knot in Rin’s throat. “You’d probably have wanted something romantic.”

The air that filters through Rin’s teeth comes out in a wheeze.

Any lightness evaporates from his head as he yanks an arm around Haruka’s shoulders, bridging the space between them in a burst of disbelief. A hundred thoughts cross over in Rin’s mind but he can only catch one: a dream he could never admit aloud before, because it was so painfully true.

“You’re an idiot, Haru,” he half-hisses into Haruka’s wet hair, “What I wanted has always been _you_.”

At once, Haruka’s shoulders grow alert like a startled animal.

And surely, there might have been a time when such words would have made Haruka bolt-and-run; a time parallel to the younger Rin, who wouldn’t have returned to this room. But in a matter of a few, deep breaths Haruka’s lips touch his skin again, and Rin can feel his smile when they move.

“…You’re the idiot,” Haruka mutters, but his fingers dig into Rin’s back instead of pulling away.

In that tiny gesture Rin understands what’s _really_ changed: not just the spirit of Haruka’s swimming, but his refusal to always run from what he cannot control. It’s a leap of faith Rin would never take for granted, and when a surge of cold water untangles Haruka from his arms, it sobers up the part of Rin that has yet to return that trust.

Reaching around for the faucet, Haruka almost yanks the temperature control right up once Rin’s hands slide around his waist.

“…Besides, why do you think I only have romantic dreams?”

It prompts a half-amused, half-curious _hmmh?_ from Haruka, like a subtle cue to continue; a definite tan-line marks the place where his swimsuit normally ends, helping Rin trace it across Haruka’s abs.

“I mean, I might have had this–– well, I’m not sure what you’d call it,” Rin murmurs, a light laughter tickling at the base of Haruka’s ear, “A thought, maybe. Of being with you. This way.”

This time, Haruka cranes around his entire head, and the look he shoots Rin is exactly what he expects.

“H, hey. You want to hear this or not?” Rin snaps with sharp teeth, but his bark ends in a smile rather than bite. Not in a million years would he have expected to actually tell Haruka any of this, but since they’ve already wrecked a hundred of Rin’s other inhibitions, what’s one more to add to the list?

Haruka responds with something inaudible, but also leans his head against the groove of Rin’s neck. The water continues to pool at their feet, but the warmth of his body lights up every nerve on Rin’s skin.

He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

“It would happen after practice, or some kind of a contest, or–– well, the details never mattered, other than that I was alone with you.”

His thumbs run along Haruka’s stomach in erratic shapes, as though lost in thought. “Maybe we talk. If you’re being a weirdo as usual, we might not. If you’re being a colossal ass we’ll probably argue instead, but somehow gravity always happens in the end and you wind up hitched in my arms.”

Haruka’s shoulders buckle with suppressed laughter, which Rin gets his revenge on by landing a line of kisses down Haruka’s neck. The warmth of his tongue blends with the cool water, and it quickly turns Haruka’s laughter into a shiver.

“Now, since I never figured it would actually happen, I took some liberties with reality,” Rin goes on, “Like, in my dreams you’re actually a semi-decent kisser.”

Another harsh yank nearly collides Haruka’s head with Rin’s, but it’s not like Rin doesn’t see it coming. With a gentle shove, Haruka’s back hits the shower wall and Rin’s lips hold down his until Haruka’s defiance wears off; it takes a little longer than intended, which is why Rin’s breath comes hot by the time they separate.

“I’m kidding, you moron,” he breathes out, trying to pretend like he hasn’t grown increasingly aware of Haruka’s erection pressing against his own. It wouldn’t take much to let all this escalate again, but a lifetime of discipline owes him at least this much mental credit.

“For a long time, I don’t think those scenes went beyond that,” Rin continues as his nose brushes Haruka’s cheek and their foreheads touch. “…But somewhere along the way, I guess that changed.”

Haruka’s brow lifts, as if he knows how much Rin is filtering out in details. But they both know better than to push his raw courage, and when Haruka’s fingertips trail the side of Rin’s face, the touch is hopeful yet calm.

“…And what would have happened,” he asks silently, “If somewhere along the way, all of it became real?”

Haruka’s voice blends with the splashes like his touch merges with the water, and somehow it’s easier to breathe.

“Well,” Rin hears himself counter; a strange kind of confidence clings to each word, and this time each syllable comes clear against Haruka’s lips.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it didn't have a plot.
> 
> (that is to say, the only way up is down)


End file.
